


there with folded arms

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Touring, Warped Tour 2005, double edged swords on both sides, growing up & into yourself & out of the shadows of your idols
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 15:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: Frank hums, “So we’re just picking off other band members now, huh?”Gerard shrugs, catches Mikey’s eye when he says: “It doesn’t count until they write a song about you, anyway.”





	there with folded arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveinamaltshop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinamaltshop/gifts).



> "And you ask why I twisted and tormented myself so? Answer: because it was just too boring to sit there with folded arms, that's why I'd get into such flourishes.
> 
> start hating, or fall  
> in love, only so as not to sit with folded arms."
> 
> \- Fyodor Dostoevsky

  
  
  
  
He doesn’t know what starts it.  
  


There are always too many topics to track back while on tour and so when Frank says, “You heard anything more from that Patrick kid?” Two weeks after _Warped_ , Gerard doesn’t have an answer right away.  
  


And Mikey sees it, of course. The slip-up before it’s been named for what it is. But he’s kind enough to stay quiet.  
  


He’d gotten the kid’s number somewhere between day two and Mikey’s new roommate's intrusion, and it wasn’t a secret so much as a topic still unsure of its definition between now and then.  
  


“Not too much,” he offers plainly, because it’s true as much as it is unrevealing. “Maybe more than I needed to know about some upstarts they’re looking into, but not uninteresting.”  
  


Frank hums, “So we’re just picking off other band members now, huh?”

  
Gerard shrugs, catches Mikey’s eye when he breathes out: “It doesn’t count until they write a song about you, anyway.”  
  
  
The jokes only funny because Mikey laughs, and Gerard cracks a smile when he snorts into his yogurt. Frank asks what’s so funny, and Gerard just shrugs. Mikey doesn’t look up. Ray snores on from the couch.  
  
  
“Way brother language, dude,” Bob says, and Frank shakes his head.  
  
  
They aim their looks in sync, matching Cheshire cat smiles catching shadowed in the light. Bob scoffs and heads into his bunk where Frank watches for a moment longer, trying to piece it together before he shakes out of it and walks off.  


Gerard makes a note of the similar hint of malice in Mikey’s smile. Doesn’t say anything about how much he likes to see it there.  


When Mikey turns back to him he just rolls his eyes, and then it’s Gerard turn to laugh.  


.  
  
  


Gerard calls, after, turns into the phone quietly, packed behind the closet space and says, “You’re not going to write a song about me, are you?”  
  
  
Patrick hums across the line, voice heavy with sleep, as Gerard realizes it has to be passed twelve at least, “Pete’s the one who usually writes the lyrics.”  
  
  
Gerard wants to say, _you can tell a lot from a melody_ , but he bites his lip instead.  


“At least promise me you’ll make it better than Mikey’s,” he says, too light, and lets Patrick laugh lull him to sleep.

  


.

  


He remembers Mikey’s stories about hurricane Pete on _Warped_ Tour, all the toxicity and codependency already crafting an end from the beginning.  
  


Mikey had told him, pressed somewhere that gave the illusion of privacy with dirty clothes everywhere and the sun touching everything, squeezing his hand like he could press the feeling down inside of it, _Gee, it’s fine. It’s almost like riding a high.  
_

He didn’t get it fully until the second part, when shows started winding down and Mikey started spending more time inside of his bunk rather than outside of it. Another late night when Frank, Ray, and Bob finally fell out on the bus couch with bottles he wouldn’t touch by a mile, and Mikey hadn’t looked at him when he spoke.  
  


Just said, _he’s more like a bender._ Mikey cracked a smile on the last word, but Gerard didn’t think there was anything funny about any of it, not when Mikey finished with, _you see effects when you’re finally conscience enough to look back.  
_

Mikey got a song about himself on the next album and they laughed their asses off about it. Gerard thought about quiet Patrick singing Pete’s love-lost ballads and laughed harder. Frank and Bob didn’t say anything, so they both just pretended the rest didn’t know.  
  


Mickey had text Pete the next day- _always thought you were more of a northern boy.  
_

A few minutes later Mikey’s phone buzzed with Pete’s response: _never said i was exclusive.  
_

They laughed their asses off about that one, too.  
  


Sometimes, when he looks close enough at Patrick he can see the same thing Mikey ran from.  
  


He flashes back to _Warped_ and all constant text notifications, missing his brother on the bus, the hints of _Pete Wentz_ around every corner. Mikey called it the _Pete_ effect, smiling when Gerard told him so.  
  


Mikey laughed, and didn’t have the same spark in his eyes when he said: _The kid’s been with him since he started, Gee. Who knows what else he has in him_.  
  


Gerard thinks he wants to crack him open and find out. Wants to see how the quiet kid with the golden voice feels about singing his best friends love letters.  
  


He’s sure there’s an old proverb, somewhere, about repeating your brother’s mistakes. Mikey probably already has it burning on his tongue, waiting for the right moment to spill over.  
  


Gerard finds Patrick’s name and types another message, doesn’t think about giving it to him.

  
  


.

  


Chicago isn’t anywhere as nice as Jersey, too cold or hot with everything feeling like it’s been scratched on the surface, and it’s the first thing Gerard says when they step off the plane.  
  


Frank shakes his head, says, “Shit, don’t let Patrick hear you say that. It’s a bitch finding a new lead singer in the middle of tour.”  
  


Bob and Mikey just laugh. Ray adds, “We would miss your pretty face, Gee, but I bet we could book that Urie kid.” Frank snaps his fingers and reaches for his phone.  
  


Gerard just flips them off, ignores Mikey’s smile, and tries to shake the laughter off outside the terminal.  
  


A car takes them to their hotel for the night, and no one raises an eyebrow when Gerard calls for a cab after setting down his stuff. He passes through the lobby, tries to sidestep the breeze as he folds himself into the cab as he hands them the address.  
  


It’s an almost twenty minute drive, and he hands the cabbie the money without really counting it, but the guy doesn't complain when Gerard stumbles out of the car.  
  


The cab drives away and Gerard’s left staring at the small gray apartment building outlined by black fencing. He takes a breath and then a step, until his finger’s pressing onto a small red button that buzzes when he touches it.  
  


The speaker says, “Hello?”  
  


It’s fuzzy and clouded with static, familiar enough to make the doodles on his wrist from the flight start to tingle around the edges.  
  


“Hi,” Gerard says, waits. “Surprise?”  
  


It’s silent for a beat before Patrick’s voice comes through again, “You _asshole_. Hang on, I’ll buzz you in.”  
  


The gates slide open and he’s rushing the wind up the stairs, only stopping at the familiar set of numbers. He knocks, once, and the door opens.  
  


Patrick’s hair is fluffy like he hasn’t brushed it all day, collisions of orange and red and blonde that leaves Gerard’s itching for his paints like he hasn't for months.  
  


Patrick’s leaning up against the door with an eyebrow raised, but he’s wearing a small smile as he ushers him through the door, shutting it behind them.  
  


“You’re an asshole,” Patrick says, but he’s still smiling, and Gerard feels his lips mirror it when he pulls Patrick in for a hug.  
“You didn’t tell me you were coming in.”  
  


“It’s a tour surprise,” Gerard says, pulling back carefully and watching the blush spread on his face.  
  


“Tour surprise,” Patrick echoes back, and Gerard hums into his neck, smiling when he feels him tilt his head back with a laugh.

  
  


.

  
  


Gerard’s hand starts itching for something to do once they’ve finally stilled and the improbability of painting sets in, and Patrick only raises an eyebrow when he pulls out a pen.  
  


“Where were you keeping that?” Patrick asks, all honest curiosity with only a hint of wariness. Gerard laughs, burying his face into Patrick’s shoulder as he uncaps the pen.  
  


“It’s a secret,” Gerard says, blinking up at Patrick through his lashes, pen a breath away from his skin. It’s a quiet question of permission, and Patrick’s face softens when he voices, “Can I?”  
  


Patrick waves his hand and Gerard moves.  
  


Patrick’s breathes are his only methods of keeping time like this, his wrist moving across skin and the ink following. When he pulls back, he can feel Patrick’s eyes following him.  
  


“Oh,” Patrick says, quiet, when he looks at what Gerard’s drawn.  
  


There are three layers to it, and he watches Patrick study it. The outer layer is an array of arrows, different shapes and sizes and patterns, and the middle is composed of star outlines with their points catching the arrows, protecting the center. The center holds two hearts folded into a square, made up of arrows and stars and blood.  
  


Patrick stares until he nudges his shoulder. “Like it?” he asks, quiet, smiling when Patrick only nods.  
  


“It’s- wow,” Patrick murmurs, his left hand coming up to trace the dried ink, eyes wide. He says, soft, “Of course I do.”  
  


And he loses time completely after that.

  


.  
  


Most times, when Gerard pulls him close, Patrick leans in and doesn’t have to say anything else.  
  
  
Others, Patrick looks at him like he’s trying to place him, trying to figure out what the body before him can mean.  
  
  
Sometimes, he gets a _Pete doesn’t usually stay this long_ , as Patrick leans himself back in. And Gerard wants to tell him, _I’m not Pete_. _  
_

But he settles in and let’s the routine carry out instead, as it plays itself over and over. The cycle had already set itself by that point, and Gerard still wonders if Patrick even sees it.  
  
  
When he wakes up the next morning to find Patrick’s side empty, he isn’t surprised. He’s just thankful he doesn’t live with Mikey anymore so he can avoid the knowing looks.  
  
  


.

They move on to Indiana the next day.  
  


The weather’s no better than Chicago’s and even less bearable than he wants to think about.  
  


It’s another stadium and set of color lights and smiles from people he still can’t name.  
  


Mikey looks at him, two minutes before stage time, and bites his lip like it hurts when he says: “I don’t think it’s what you’re making it into.”  
  


And he doesn’t have to specify what he’s meaning because they both already know what he’s talking about, _who_ he’s talking about with his eyes darting around like that.  
  


And Gerard knows, he does. Knows that sometimes a shadow lingers longer than a stable presence and how what-ifs can cling tighter than what’s standing directly in-front and offering.  
  


It doesn’t stop him from still thinking about it, of course.  
  


So he says, “I know.” And thinks quick to follow it up with a small, “Thanks.”  
  


He catches Mikey's careful smile as the curtain pulls.

  
  


.

  


**Author's Note:**

> i...i really dont go here anymore at all. but i found this & i love nina sm so i thought she deserved the finished product so <3
> 
> I own nothing, but I hope you enjoyed. Comments & kudos are much appreciated and make me very happy.


End file.
